Different
by xxjourney
Summary: Snap, dude. Can girls change that much in eight months?" Spam and its fluffy, rambly goodness from Spencer's POV.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm so bored," Carly complained, flipping through the channels on the TV. "Are you making any new sculptures?" she asked me.

I nodded as I gathered supplies from the kitchen. "It's a--" I pulled out the notecard I was given, "--recipe pirate. It's supposed to have an eyepatch and stuff."

"Who's it for?"

"That new deli on the corner."

"Arrg Meaty's?"

"Yup."

"Want any help?"

I looked from my little sister to the boxes of plastic utensils in my arms. "Only if you promise not to stab me with a spork."

She laughed. "Aw, come on, Spence. It's no fun if I can't poke you with plastic silverware."

I smiled. "You didn't come over here to help me build sculptures, Carls. You came to revisit Seattle, remember?"

"Oh come on. I've been away for, what, eight months? Besides, I want my spring break to be a chance for me to hang out with my big brother."

"Good enough excuse. Here, help me carry this stuff upstairs."

She grinned and took a box.

"How's college life treating you, Carls?" I asked as we walked up the stairs to the third floor.

Carly shrugged a little. "Eh, it's okay, I guess. Basically like high school, only with more beer and bigger classes."

"Those were the days." I sighed.

"Hey, aren't we traveling down my memory lane?"

"Maybe. Let me reminisce, woman!"

"Hup up up," she said, threatening me with a plastic knife. Dang it, I thought I had given her a box of spoons.

"Fiiiine. Let me reminisce, _Carly._"

She smiled. "Much better. I already put up with all that demeaning crap in California."

"What'cha mean?"

"You know. Guys and their, uh, places they can't control. All they think girls are good for are sleeping with."

I nodded. "I can beat any of them up, if you like."

"It's cool, I've already got a bodyguard."

"Who?"

She blushed, and I tried to look stern. "Carly Michelle Shay, do you have a boyfriend?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I grinned at her. "Don't grow up too fast on me now, kiddo."

She grinned back. "I promise."

I handed her a few boxes of "supplies" to free up an arm to reach up to the top of the door frame of the old iCarly studio, looking for the spare key. I hadn't really had much of a use for the room--aside from making a few sculptures in there--since the kids went off to college, so I kept it locked most of the time

I opened the door and let Carly in first. She looked around, a small smile on her face. "Man," she said. "Memories." I let her look around for a bit as I set up my clay and utensils on a plastic table I had set up a few months ago for my sculptures. I tried to keep my mind on the Recipe Pirate, but couldn't. Just having Carly in the iCarly studio like back in the day...it was like she was a kid again. All we needed was Sam eating some pork and Freddie toying around with something technical, and it was a perfect flashback to a few years ago. I smiled to myself. Those were definitely the days.

Suddenly Carly's phone bagan to ring, startling us both out of our daydreams. "Hello?" she said. Out of the back pocket of my jeans I pulled out a drawing of what the customers wanted the Pirate to look like.

"Are you really?" Carly squealed into the phone. "Oh my God! Hurry!"

I picked up a blob of bright blue clay, the same color as the Recipe Pirate.

"Okay, okay, okay. I know. I just miss you a whole lot."

I sat the blob on the table and stared at it, waiting for the creative juices to start flowing.

"I know! Alright, see you soon!" Carly hung up.

"Who was that?" I asked, still staring at the clay.

"Freddie!" she exclaimed. "He's coming over!"

"Sweet! Do you want me to make food?"

"Yeah, sure. Make enough for--" she counted on her fingers--"four people. Freddie said he's bringing someone else over to say hi."

"Who?"

Carly shrugged. "Beats me."

"You think it's a girl?"

She shrugged again. "He said 'she' a couple of times, but didn't say who."

"I thought Freddie sucked at surprises."

"Well, it has been a while since we saw him."

"You think he's suddenly become better at surprises since then?"

"It's a possibility. Now, when does the deli want the pirate?"

"Tomorrow."

"Ugh. Same old Spencer."

---

We sculpted for a little while, talking and catching up. She told me about her roommates, classmates, teachers, her "bodyguard," and the time that a coffee cart caught on fire randomly and she thought of me.

"You know, it's been a while since anything around me spontaneously combusted," I told her, attaching my pirates eyepatch to his orphan-blue face.

"Maybe it's because I was the one who caused it all to. I attached matches to everything."

"You, mean!"

"Me, kidding!"

"You, not nice!"

"Can we stop talking like that?"

"Yeah, sure thing, kiddo."

"So what have you been doing while I was away, Spence?" Carly asked as she crisscrossed clay to create a plaid effect.

"Working on my killer tan," I replied, matter-of-factly.

She looked over at my bare arm. "Sike."

We laughed, and the doorbell rang. I never really figured out how we could hear the bell all the way from the third floor. "I'll go get that," Carly said eagerly, wiping her hands off with a rag.

She ran down the stairs, and I continued sculpting. I could hear muffled yelps of happiness and I knew Carly was suffocating Freddie with hugs. Whistling, I wiped my clay covered hands on my jeans and skipped to the elevator. Yes, I skipped. The wind went through my hair and everything.

While I stood in the elevator, I thought about things. You know, how Freddie was, how Sam was doing. I also thought about making some kind of rig to play elevator music so that the five minutes it took to go from the third floor to the first floor didn't seem so monotonous.

The doors opened, and I stepped out into a total reunion. You would've guessed it had been three and a half years since they last saw each other.

"Spencer!" Freddie called out from across the room. He ran over and we did that funny handshake-into-a-hug thing that guys do, and Carly kept smiling and smiling. It made my cheeks hurt, but I was so happy so see her so happy.

That was when I saw her. I knew it was Sam, but at the same time--it wasn't. She was on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, but she didn't seem so boyish. I mean, the way she sat was more graceful, like her limbs didn't feel so awkward. When she turned around to look at me, I had to keep my mouth from hitting the floor. Her hair was still long, but it was pulled up into a ponytail, away from her face. And was that--make up? Blush maybe? Eyeliner? Snap, dude. Can girls change that much in eight months? Sam smiled, and it reached all the way up to her eyes, like it filled her up.

Damn, I'm poetic.

I guess I didn't say anything, because the next thing I know, Carly is stabbing me in the ribs with her index finger. "Wake up, Spence!"

I snapped out of it, shaking my head violently and blinking a couple of times. "Morning!"

The three kids laughed, and Sam got up from the couch. " 'Sup, Shay?" she asked, coming over to where Freddie, Carly, and I were, over by the kitchen counter.

"I should be asking you that, Sam," I said, eyeing her.

She blushed. Wait, she _what?_ "You don't like?"

"I don't like what?"

Before I could answer, Carly suddenly yelled, "Guys!"

"What?" everyone else, and me, yelled back, startled.

"You've got to see Spencer's wicked awesome new sculpture!" And with that she took Freddie and Sam by the wrist and literally threw them into the elevator. I thought it was hilarious, mostly because Sam's got some muscle, Freddie's like six feet tall, and Carly is still so petite. "Third floor! Be right up!" she told them as the door closed.

"Be careful," she warned, as soon as she was sure her friends were out of earshot.

I gave her a bewildered look. I think I did, anyway, if "bewildered" means confused to a high degree. Whatever, I wasn't ever really all that great at English anyway.

Carly ignores my look. "Spence, I saw that look you gave to Sam. Please don't do anything to her, and I'm not saying that for her sake. She'll beat the snot out of you. Remember Jonah?"

I tried to.

"Well, she wedgie bounced him on the Internet! I hear clips are still circulating and he hasn't lived it down."

I frowned. "So you want me to date her?"

"Guh! No! I'm saying that if you try to do anything and break her heart, you'll never live it down. Sam's got some power."

I frowned again. "So you don't want me to date her?"

Carly narrowed her eyes at me and punched my arm all sisterly. "Do whatever you want. Just don't knock her up or hurt her. Got it?"

I still frowned. "It's _Sam_, for the love of the color wheel."

She crossed her arms. "Exactly. And I saw how you looked at her," she repeated. "Anyway, I gotta go upstairs before they think I left them alone to die. You coming?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. Don't break anything."

"Don't set anything on fire," she called out, jogging up the stairs.

I placed my butt into one of the stools at the kitchen counter and thought some more. That was the third time, I think. Aw, dang. Still more thinking.

Anyway, I was trying to figure out what exactly Carly said. I mean, I knew _what_she said; I was trying to figure out what exactly she was attempting to shove into my brain. The thought (arg!) of dating my little sister's best friend of, like, ten years was definitely a little weird, but, well, Sam's nineteen, so legally it's okay, right? Right?

I guess I must have dozed off from thinking so much, because, the next thing I know, I wake up with a puddle of drool on the counter top under my cheek.

Gross.

* * *

The "Recipe Pirate" is totally stolen from **the** most awesome cartoon ever, Chowder.

Carly's "guh!" and "wicked awesome" and Spencer's "snap, dude" are jacked from my everyday dialogue.

Anyway...fluffy Spam. More to come. (:


	2. Chapter 2

Sam came downstairs a little while after I woke up from my nap on the counter.. She headed to -- of course -- the fridge to grab something to eat. "Hey, Sam," I greeted cheerfully.

She jumped a little, making her ponytail bounce, and turned around. "Oh, hey, Spence. I didn't even see you there."

"Seriously? I'm, like, right by the stairs."

"Well, yeah, but I'm also extremely starving and I've got tunnel vision when it comes to food."

I nodded. Duh. "You left Carly and Freddie up there?"

"Mmhm," she said, sipping a can of soda. "Your sculpture's great, by the way."

I tried to be modest. "Aw, thanks, but I had some help from Carly."

She smiled and set the can of soda on top of the kitchen island and bent down to get a bag of chips from the cabinets underneath. Her purple shirt rode up a little bit, and I caught a glimpse of her pale hip underneath. You know, how the smell of pancakes on a Sunday morning might remind someone of their childhood or something? Colors remind me of certain things, and now the color combination of purple and ivory will remind me of Sam.

"You don't have any ranch."

"I don't what?"

"Ranch chips," Sam repeated. "You know they're my favorite."

Her eyes seemed more blue. "I didn't even know you were coming over. Which reminds me -- culinary school. How is it?"

She grinned and picked up the soda. "I'll let you know when I cook you guys dinner."

---

Now, a few years ago, we would all have been frightened at the thought of Sam cooking food. Carly had told me, back when they all first started high school, that Sam had baked cookies once. She and Freddie, though, were wary about whether or not Sam had even washed her hands. But back then she made a pretty darn good cookie, I'm sure, and proved she did have some culinary skill.

Yet I was still a little uneasy as she used these huge knives I didn't even know we had, dicing up vegetables and cubes of chicken. All the while, she was talking to Carly and Freddie about how there was this guy who made this really good pudding once with marshmallows and nuts and stuff. I didn't really pay much attention; I was focusing on her skills with the knife, hoping she didn't cut herself.

"...huh, Spence?" Carly asked.

"What?"

"Remember? That time you ate that old tapioca pudding and thought the green stuff was food coloring they added for production."

I gagged. That stuff still haunts me in nightmares. "Yeah," I said, a bitter taste in my mouth, "I remember. Never remind me again."

Carly laughed. "Sorry. I forgot how traumatized you got."

"Did you even check the expiration date?" Freddie inquired.

"No. That's why I thought it was safe. And I thought tapioca pudding was like canned pineapple, an unparishable or whatever the heck they call canned food these days."

"My teacher was telling us about that last week," Sam said, putting her ingredients into the wok. "She said --"

But then I got distracted again, watching the way she scooped up the broccoli and took it to the stove, talking the whole time. Okay, I was getting a little scared at that point. I mean, I could always pay attention to stuff she talked about, like the time when she was in fifth grade and she told me about putting the smack down on some obnoxious kid in Miss Ooberman's class that kept following her everywhere. I could even remember the kid's name: Samson. But then again -- hardly anyone names their kid Samson anymore...

Still, you get my point, right? She'd tell me all kinds of stuff, and I could remember the majority of it. I could tell you about the first time she told me what she thought about Freddie when they first met, the time she taught me to lie, that day a couple of years ago when she stayed over and talked to me and Carly about how jealous she was of us for having a dad. I payed attention 'cause I felt like it was my duty. I guess I felt like an older brother to her, and now that I was noticing her differently was totally creeping me out.

"Anyway, she told us to never wind surf with a bucket of fried chicken," Sam finished, washing her hands. "Hey, Fredcrack, set the table, will ya?"

Freddie stood up from the stool he was sitting on. " 'Fredcrack,' Sam?"

She shrugged. "It's all I could come up with. Sorry. Ooh, get the fancy ones. And candles!"

"Sam," Carly said, "we don't have any fancy plates."

"Do too," Sam replied, hands on her hips. "They're brown with green trim. I know that because those are specifically the ones you told me never to touch."

I smiled. She seemed like a little kid, standing there all defiant. Kind of like that picture that somehow migrated to the front of our fridge a million years ago.

"You don't care, do you, Spence?" Carly asked me.

I shrugged. "Not really."

"Yay! Get the fancy ones, Freddie."

"I don't see what the big deal is about freakin' plates is," Freddie grumbled.

"Hey man," Sam said, stabbing him in the rib with her finger, "I will have no negative attitude during my dinner, savvy?"

Freddie nodded, and I could see a laugh bubbling up in his throat. I didn't think anyone said "savvy" except those pirates in those movies either.

---

"Holy rat tail stew, Batman," I said during dinner. "This stuff is great."

"Idn't it?" Sam replied in her funny way of talking.

"Totally," Freddie answered, taking another forkful of Sam's stir fry. "What'd you put in it?"

"Arsenic, syanide, air freshener, dog food, moth bolls, and a dash of cayenne pepper." She didn't bat an eye. I clapped inwardly. Impressive. I guess she didn't change as much as I thought she had.

Carly shook her head. "You're full of it."

Sam smiled. "So, Shay," she said, changing the subject, "got a man in your life?"

Freddie's head shot forward suddenly, a quick snicker coming from his throat.

"What the -- what's with you?" Carly asked. "Is it so hilariously unbelievable for me to have a boyfriend?"

"I -- no, it's just -- this joke I've got with some of my roommates. Never mind. Go on," Freddie replied sheepishly.

"I will. Anyway -- I do. What about you Sam?"

Sam shrugged. I was hoping she would say no. I really wanted her to say she spent her nights in her dorm reading a cookbook. The fact that I _wanted_her to deny it gave me the skeeves.

"Nah," she said. I just then realized I was holding my breath. "No guy worth my time yet. I'm still waiting for him, I guess. You got a man, Freddie?"

"No, Sam, I don't."

"You want one? I hear Spencer here is single and ready to mingle."

I turned beet red. Holy freaking crap. Does she not notice that I'm sitting right here?

Carly, on the other hand, is laughing hysterically and has to run out of the room. Thanks, Carly. You get an extra present this Christmas for that one.

Freddie scoffs. "I'm into girls, Puckett."

"Oh really? Since when?"

"Since forever."

"Okay, good enough. Spence? You like any girls right now?" It amuses me how she can insult Freddie and then just switch like that. I suppose he's used to it.

"Uh," I said. Back, meet corner. "There's this one girl, I guess."

Sam raised her eyebrows. Her bright eyes told me to explain more. They also told my mouth to stop moving. "Heh," was all I said before Carly came back into the room.

I made a note to self to not be intimidated by nineteen year old girls anymore in the future.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night, after dinner, we went back upstairs to hang out in the studio. Well, the kids did. I still had to finish my sculpture. He was almost done; his and head and body were finished, but I still had to create the majority of his pirate elements, like his peg leg, pirate hat, and beard.

"You know what we should do?" Sam asked suddenly, throwing herself onto a bean bag.

"What?" Carly replied.

"iCarly."

I looked up. Sam had her typical look of confidence, while Carly and Freddie were looking at each other uneasily. "Seriously?" Freddie finally asked.

Sam shrugged. "Why not? We're all here, and I'm sure everyone is tired of our blogs and individual videos. Come on, kids, be psyched! Freddie, go get your computer stuff. Me and Carls will work on something funny."

Freddie still just stood there.

"Yeah," Carly said, smiling. "Let's do it."

Freddie shrugged and left the room. I hummed and worked on my Recipe Pirate, and Sam and Carly talked about the webshow.

"Well, first we've got to explain what's going on," Carly said. "Just, like, say why we're all of a sudden doing the show again after so long."

"Right, right." Sam wrote something down on a little notepad that she seemed to have gotten out of nowhere. "Oh! And then how about we tell stupid jokes?"

"And lame one liners?"

"Perfect! I can use the 'boo' button on my remote and everything."

"Awesome. There's also this skit that this girl in one of my classes did the other day. It was kind of random but really, really funny. I could call her and ask if we could do that, too."

Sam nodded and wrote some more. "Perfect. Then I make fun of Freddie a little bit, we have some sort of food eating thing -- Emmett still live here? -- and we're done."

"Sweet. So I'll go call my friend and get Emmett and we can start the show," Carly said, leaving the studio.

Now it was just me and Sam.

I grabbed a blob of brown clay out of a bucket for my pirate's peg leg. Sam stood up and walked around, wiping dust off some stuff with her hand. "Hey Spence?"

"What's up?" I formed the clay around the wooden support stick that was the pirate's leg for now.

"What's your favorite color?"

I furrowed my brow but focused on my sculpture. "I guess purple. Why?"

"Just wondering."

I picked up a kibobe skewer and used it to trace a wooden pattern on the peg leg. Dude, this was one sweet peg leg.

"Hey Spence?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever been interested in someone you didn't think you had a chance with?"

My stomach dropped, and I didn't want to look up at her. I knew she was watching me.

Good God. I couldn't think of what would make a good answer, so I just said the first thing that came to mind.

"You know me. Always going for the wrong girls. Heh."

I glanced up from the peg leg to look at her, and something in her face fell. What, she didn't like my answer? Aw, hell. I hate myself.

Thank the sweet, holy Lord above, because just at that moment, the elevator "ding"ed and in came Freddie with his old cart of techie items. "Where's Carly?" he asked, setting everything up.

"Went to go take care of the show," Sam answered. "Hey Spencer?"

Oh, please, no. "Uh huh?"

"Do you have a rag I could use? There's dust everywhere."

I looked over at my supplies. "Yeah, right here." I picked up the rag and handed it to her. She nodded a thank you, but I didn't let go as she tried to take it. "And by the way," I said. "I have."

She looked kinda puzzled, but I knew she'd get it after a while.

Carly came skipping in, that kid who eats everything trailing behind her. She was carrying the blender and some random food in her arms. "Who's ready for the show?" she asked happily, setting everything on one of my folding tables.

"Duh," Sam said, plugging in all the lights and wiping the cover of dust off of everything. Hey, I didn't think they'd be doing iCarly anymore, okay? I didn't see any reason to keep everything clean.

"Okay, guys. Take your positions," Freddie said, logging onto the website.

"Emmett, go over there, and I'll call you out when we're ready," Carly told the kid, and he obeyed.

"And in 5...4...3...2..."

I smiled and watched adults act like children.

The overhead lighting made Sam glow.

Maybe this feeling wasn't so creepy.


	4. Chapter 4

I was packing up my Recipe Pirate supplies at about two in the morning up in the studio when the elevator 'ding'-ed. Carly came in, clad in shorts and a tee shirt. "Spencer, you have to get to bed."

"No," I whined. "I just have to get this to Socko so he can get his uncle Clay to fire it in his kiln."

She yawned. "Do you want any help?"

I looked over my perfect blue pirate. "Mmm...only if you don't break anything."

"I'm not you."

I stopped, clutched my chest in mock pain. "Oh, how you hurt me so."

She poked me. "You'll be fine."

Handing her a case of clay, I ordered, "Take this."

"That's it?"

"I've got everything else, kiddo. We can both carry the ol' pirate here down to my car after we get this stuff taken care of."

She shrugged and led the way down the stairs. She grabbed a coat off the rack by the front door and threw it over her shoulders, then tossed a sweatshirt at me. "Put it on," she ordered.

"My hands are kind of full," I pointed out. She looked over me, like she was trying to figure out if I was lying or not. And, let me just say, it's kind of difficult to pretend like your hands are full if they aren't, especially if you're carrying a whole lot of boxes full of borrowed stuff you didn't end up using.

I suppose she bought my reason, because Carly tied the sweatshirt around my neck like a snotty rich kid, much to my protest, and pushed me out the door, closing it softly as to not was up Sam, who was still asleep upstairs. That was a long sentence.

"Hey," I said, realizing something, "how come we aren't taking the elevator?"

"Exercise," Carly replied simply.

"Gurh."

"Oh hush. And have you been using that gym membership? You should be good and buff by now."

I scoffed. "I'm quite proud of my girlish figure, thanks."

She tutted and shrugged, so I guess this was a good enough excuse for her. We continued on in silence. The parking lot had gotten dirtier since I'd seen it a day before when I picked Carly up from the airport. I don't know how that was possible, but it happened. Maybe it was because there were more cars? Maybe because the street lamps provided extremely weak lighting? Hmmm.

We stopped at my awesome little silver car, and I pulled my keys from the pocket of my pajama pants. The doors unlocked, and I opened the back passenger side.

"What's wrong with your trunk?" Carly asked suspiciously.

"If you're asking about the dead body," I replied, sticking everything into the backseat, "I dumped it before you got here."

She laughed and followed my lead, putting her one item in the back. I untied the sweatshirt from around my neck. "Urgh! That was awful. Are you gonna go buy me some sweater vests next?"

Carly laughed again, shaking her head. "No, silly. Sam hates sweater vests."

I thanked the good God above for the dim lighting in the lot; my little sister couldn't see my face turn red. "You're still on this Sam thing?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

"Duh," she replied, shutting the door. "I know when you like a girl, Spence."

I scoffed, crossed my arms, generally trying to maintain some sort of manly stance. "Oh you do? Please, enlighten me."

"Well, you blush a whole lot, for one."

I scoffed again. "Is that all? Maybe that's just my natural coloring."

She rolled her eyes and her shoulders slumped, the reaction people usually make when you've just said something so stupid. "I've known you for a pretty long time, Spence. You're not naturally red."

"Okay -- I'll give you that. Tell me more about myself." I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and motioned for her to follow me back to the apartment.

"Well," she began, taking a deep breath. I could already tell this was going to be partially embarrassing. "You get really jittery and try to impress her with food terminology, you avoid eye contact with everyone, wear only green shirts, and/or forget to take your cell phone out of your pocket before doing the laundry."

I frowned. "That last one's not fair. I always do that." She shrugged in agreement. "And name a girl that goes along with your examples," I continued.

"Eh, you generally get jittery around girls. I heard that you tried to seduce Marilyn Raimer, that lady from the Jonas Book of World Records, with blintzes. When you first met that girl Sandra Robertson you couldn't look her in the eye for a week, and she thought she had pink eye. Then there was Melissa Crawzinski, the girl you ran into at Food Mo's. You wore green exclusively just because you met in the produce section. And -- "

I held up my hands. "Alright, I get it. I'm a hot mess."

"Not necessarily. All you really need to do is that girls are just guys without -- "

I cut her off for the second time, jamming my fingers in my ears and blocking out her words with several "la la la la la"s. When I figured it was safe, I stopped.

" -- ignorance," Carly finished. "Exhibit A," she told an invisible audience, gesturing at me with a flourish.

I poked her. "Oh, yeah, listen to you, Miss Law Student." Yeah. Carly's living the dream Grandad had intended for me. Well, once she finishes regular college. I don't care. Art is fun. Law is -- law. I shudder.

"Whatever." By now we'd ended up back in the lobby of the apartment, and Lewbert was asleep, kicked back in his chair at the front desk. He honestly looked rather comfortable to me, and I guess the dude doesn't have anywhere else to go. Not like his place is anyone's dream home.

Me and Carls tiptoed past him to our private elevator just off the main lobby, and Carly swiped her electric card to open the doors. "All I'm saying is that you're a typical guy, reacting in the manner acceptable for your gender. Er, _stereotypical_ for your gender. And in any case, a girl would be lucky to have you, Spence."

Ignoring the whole terminology that she worded that whole phrase, I got what she was saying and wrapped my arms around my sister. "You're nice!" I cried out.

"Yeah, uh, thanks, Spencer. Um, I can't -- I can't breathe," she choked out. I immediately released her, happy to have such an awesome sister that really accepted me, unlike the rest of my family. Especially Grandad. I don't know why I'm bringing him up now, but whatever. Hasn't that ever happened to you? When someone randomly pops into your head and you don't know why?

Well. I'm rambling. Heh. Ramble is a funny word. RAMBLE RAMBLE RAMBLE RAMBLE RAMBLE. Rrraaammmbbbllleee. After a while it just sounds like a bunch of noise, right?

Ugh, anyway. After Carly and I carried the Recipe Pirate down to the car, I was really too tired from sculpting and trying to prove my manliness, so Carly was nice enough to drive over to Clay to get my pirate fired. I wonder what he did wrong at his job? That was a pun. Go ahead. Laugh or boo.

While she was gone, I was hanging out in my room and listening to the PearPod I kidnapped from Carly, trying to listen to some of her more emotional songs so I could fall asleep. Surprisingly, they weren't working, although they had in the past. I got up from my bed and went to the kitchen to make some tea, hoping that maybe a warm beverage would do the trick. Just as the kettle started to whistle, I noticed a certain blonde girl sitting on the couch. I'm not sure if Sam was asleep or not, but she was really still. I whispered her name.

"What?" she asked, turning around. She looked like the old Sam I knew: no makeup, messy, curly hair flying every which way. Wow. I hadn't realized how different she truly looked comparing that night to the day she came over to say bye as she left for college.

I realized she was still staring at me and I hadn't responded. "Can't sleep?" I managed.

She nodded. "Crazy dreams."

"The monster and the soup thing again?"

"I can't believe you still remember that," she said, smiling.

"Of course. You want some tea?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure. I stopped dreaming that after you came at me in that monster suit."

"I've actually still got that costume," I told her, pouring hot water into two mugs.

"No way?"

"Swear. I can't get rid of it." I went over to her with both mugs, setting them down on the coffee table. "Let it steep," I said, sitting beside her.

Sam nodded slowly, as if contemplating something. "Can I see it?" she finally asked.

I suddenly remembered how horrifically she beat me up when she thought I was trying to jack her soup. "One condition."

"Name it."

"I don't have to wear it."

She laughed. "Okay, Spence."

* * *

I'm putting a link to a picture of the Recipie Pirate on my profile; just check under the the "Different" label in the "Coming Soon" area/section thing.

Some guy's getting blinded by a laser on TV.

Anyway. Review if you want to. (:


	5. Chapter 5

I dug in my closet, searching desperately for that old costume I used in Sam's dream therapy so many years prior. Unfortunately, I don't keep my closet very neat, so I can never find things not used on a daily basis; in other words, the costume was suffocated and hidden after years of neglect.

I threw shoes, pants, and a few items of questionable food out into the open, hoping that maybe my monster suit was there. Nothing. I went further and further to the back of my closet, and my hand finally touched the somewhat familiar fishnetting on the suit.

"Yes!" I said, lifting it out of the closet. I did a quick victory dance, but stopped mid-cabbage patch when I looked down onto the floor. Generally the entire contents of my closet were lying on the ground, reminding me of some sort of battleground. I shrugged. "I'll get it later." I jumped over everything and left the room.

"Found it," I announced, tossing it over the back of the couch beside Sam.

She smiled up at me. "It's so dusty."

"Well, yeah, it's like five years old. Dust tends to be attracted to old things."

She touched the arm part. "Dude, memories."

I nodded. "Totally. So it actually worked?"

"Yeah! You should be a therapist or something. Scaring me half to death got rid of that dream."

We sat in silence, Sam observing the costume while I sipped the forgotten tea. It tasted like peppermint.

"Spencer?"

"Hmm?" I asked over the rim of my mug.

"I never did thank you."

I shrugged. "You're Sam; you don't really have to _say _it."

She scrunched up her eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

"It means you've got your own special ways of saying 'thanks.'"

Sam turned to face me, draping her arm over the back of the couch, leaning in with interest. "Do tell," she said, smiling.

"Well, in this case, you thanked me when you told off Lewbert after he accused me of not paying rent. That was pretty awesome."

"I've never seen a grown man whine like that," Sam replied. "And besides, he can't even keep track of where he puts _his_ stuff, let alone rent."

I laughed. "You're so right." I glanced over at the clock beside the hallway. "Whoa, it's already almost four. I think I should go off to bed - I've got to go to the unveiling of my sculpture at nine."

I stood up from the couch to leave, when Sam grabbed my arm. "Wait," she said, somewhat unnecessarily. I mean, she already had my arm.

"What?"

Sam opened her mouth to speak, when Carly came in through the front door. "There, it's done. I'm going to bed," she grumbled, more to herself than anyone else. She did a double take at Sam and me in the living room, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly at me. "Am I interrupting something?"

Sam let go of my arm like it was on fire. "I was just asking if Spencer could take my cup to the kitchen before he went to bed. I couldn't sleep and he - made me some tea." Her voice kind of trailed off at the end, like she was making no big deal of it.

Carly nodded. "Cool. You gonna sleep down here? I'm beat from driving around the city in the middle of the night."

"No, I'm going upstairs. Night, Spence."

Carly stood there, and I knew she was watching me as I walked to the sink with the mugs. Her eyes are like lasers.

Finally, I turned around and faced her. "What?" I asked.

"'What' what? I was just looking at the back of your head."

"Liar. Why would you suddenly take such an interest in my cranium?"

"Because I know what you're thinking about in there." She sat down on the couch. "Or, rather, _who_."

I suddenly yawned and stretched dramatically. "Boy! Am I beat! I'm gonna hit the sack. Night, Carls."

"Sleep tight, Spencer," she called out to me as I jumped into my bed.

The next morning, the sound of a heavy downpour on the roof woke me up. Sleepily, I turned my eyes toward the window. Yup, it was raining. Thanks for the lovely spring day, Seattle.

"No! I already called syrup first!"

"You can't claim the syrup!"

"Then what the hell did I just do?"

"Sam! You can have it in two seconds!"

"I'm not waiting, I already claimed it!"

"Ow! Ow! Okay, here!"

Dude, did I wake up five years in the past? I got up out of bed and poked my head out my bedroom door. Nope, it was definitely present day; but some things never change.

"Hi!" Carly greeted from the kitchen table when she saw me.

"Mornin', y'all." I sat at the table beside Freddie.

"Regular redneck, aren't you, Spencer?" Sam asked, with her mouth full of waffle. She raised her eyebrows. I guess she expected me to answer.

"Yeah, totally. Call me Billy Ray Cyrus."

Freddie laughed. He always appreciated my redneck jokes. "Hey, Sam, pass the syrup."

"Fuck you."

"Sam…" he whined. "I can't eat dry waffles."

"You saying my waffles are dry and tasteless?"

"No, just that the syrup would bring out their deliciousness. Please pass the syrup?" he tried.

"Fuck you," she repeated.

During Sam's and Freddie's argument, Carly's and my head went from side to side like we were watching a tennis match. Except, you know, I wasn't half asleep.

I stacked my plate with waffles. "Hey Sam, can I have the syrup?"

"Oh, sure thing, Spence." She grinned as she handed me the bottle. I could practically feel Freddie rolling his eyes beside me. "Anything for _you_," she added.

Of course, Freddie took the syrup from me as soon as I was finished.

The four of us chatted for a bit about nothing in particular, like old times. In the background, I could hear a television Sam must've forgotten to turn off.

"I make some pretty killer waffles, eh Carly?" Sam said, nudging my sister as she got another helping.

"They're amazing," Carly admitted. "You have to show me how to make these."

"You mean you weren't down here when she was making them?" I inquired of Carly. Yeah, "inquired." Take that, Mr. Juarez, my tenth grade English teacher that always hounded me with vocabulary.

Carly shook her head. "Sam was already almost done when I woke up."

"So Sam woke up – early?" This time Freddie was asking questions.

Sam shrugged and rolled her eyes modestly. "I wanted to make you guys breakfast. Actually," she added, pointing to me and Carly, "I just wanted to make it for the both of you, but then this kid showed up and I couldn't starve him with his big ol' doe eyes."

"Your eyes are kind of doe-ish," Carly told Freddie.

"So we all agree Freddie has the eyes of Bambi," I butted in. "But what's more important is that Sam makes one delicious waffle." I watched as the corners of her mouth turned up into a little smile and the tops of her ears turned red. Score. I knew that would work.

"Sam's blushing!" Freddie suddenly yelled out, causing me to tear my eyes away from Sam, as much as I didn't want to. As much as I didn't want to not. Yeah. Like I didn't want to not want to look at her. That makes sense okay? At least in my head.

"I am not," Sam said, glaring at Freddie across the table. "I accidentally poked myself with something sharp."

"Sam, it's not against the law to blush. Some guys even think it's cute."

Before I knew what I was doing, my head took on a mind of its own (pun!) and nodded. I hoped no one saw, but I noticed Carly looking right at me and knew she was gonna say something. Oh shit.

"You think blushing is – cute?" Carly asked me, with a face that said she knew exactly what was going on.

I tried to play it cool. "Well yeah, sure."

Sam raised an eyebrow. This time, I avoided looking at her.

* * *

A/N: I know, I suck for not updating for forever. I'm sorry! Too much went on "in reality" for me to focus on my fics.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and subscribed to this story while I was away. =))


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